Of Wolf and Man
by Chyina
Summary: A Wolverine FanFic -- Rated 'R' for Violence & Sexual Content -- Some say our reality is a dream & our dreams are our reality. What if they're right? Would you know the difference? Could you be sure when you woke up you weren’t actually falling asleep?
1. A Second's Reaction

Marvel characters being used in this story are Trademarks of Marvel Characters, Inc. No money is being made from their use. Copyright ©1939-2001 Marvel Characters, Inc. All Rights Reserved. 

The character of China is my creation and my property. The plot is also of my own creation. To better understand her for this story please read China's biography: http://www.geocities.com/china_marie_more/China/China.html

  


**Of Wolf and Man**  
By: China

  
~**Synopsis**~   
  
Have you ever had a dream that seemed so real once you woke up you began to doubt whether it had been a dream at all? Some say our reality is merely a dream and that our dreams are our true reality. What if they were right? What if you found yourself dreaming a life that was actually taking place as your reality? Would you know the difference? Could you be sure that if or when you woke up that you weren't actually falling asleep?

  


~**Prologue**~

"Tabby really." A tall woman with dark chocolate skin and raven dreadlocks shook her head. "I can't see how you are able to read such nonsense."

"It's not nonsense, Kia," Tabitha, Tabby to her friends, replied waving the half-open book in front of her friend. "They're really good stories."

"Once you get past all the sex, maybe," Kia replied taking the paperback novel from her dusty blonde headed friend. "But when do romance novelists ever get past the sex part?"

The two women were walking along a New York street. Their lunch break together had ended and now they were heading back to work. It had been like this for years. Today would prove no different for the two friends, and yet this day couldn't be more different.

It seemed puzzling to Kia how Tabby was able to be so into a romance to keep reading it even when walking through town. For that matter it seemed odd that any book could hold such an appeal. But it was a routine for Tabby. Every day was the same, perhaps a different book but a book nonetheless. Even as Kia flipped through the pages a little she still looked puzzled.

"Well, that book is more plot based if you're interested," Tabby pointed out, almost proudly. "The author is good at combining fantasy like settings with romance."

Kia just grunted disbelievingly, but nodded her head anyway as she handed the book back to Tabby.

"I guess it's an acquired taste, if a taste at all," Kia said softly, but Tabby didn't seem to hear as she stuck her nose back in the book. Kia sighed. 

The two women stopped at the corner where two roads met. Kia's destination was an office building to the left across the street, while Tabby's job was farther ahead.

"Coffee after work like usual?" Kia asked, readying herself to cross her side of the street.

"Aha," Tabby merely nodded as she headed straight her thoughts on the story in her hands. 

Kia shook her head again. The light for her cross walk flashed a figure of a man and Kia stepped to the street. 

About halfway to the middle of the street there was the sound of a woman yelling something. A short gruff looking man and a tall man wearing a trench coat crossing the street towards Kia started to run. Then the tires began to screech, a horn was blaring. 

Kia's head bolted up, as her eyes darted franticly, panic surging through her veins. Every instinct told her what was happening. A second dragged painfully by. Even the rising cries of others were slow, starting low and rising.

"NOOO!" Kia screamed as she turned to watch Tabby suddenly drop her book. The paperback landed into the road. "TABBY!"

Every move, every sight and sound was going so slow. Kia's hand reached out in a vain effort, as she began to run. But one of the two men who had started to run grabbed her by the arm stopping her short. 

There was a seizing feeling inside of her mind. Sudden wrenching pain shot through Kia's head.

Tabby only had time to barely turn her head before the truck hit her. Her body bent over the bumper and stuck for only an instant before being thrown. The picture looked as if her figure had simply lost all solidness to it. Limbs flailed, blood leapt from her mouth like droplets of rain. With a tumbling roll, that didn't look possible for a human, Tabby's body hit the ground. More blood sprayed as her head made contact first cracking open. Limbs bent in half in places they couldn't without breaking. 

Then just as suddenly as a flash of lightning life left as if nothing more than an afterthought.

  


~**Chapter One**~  
A Second's Reaction

"Remind me again why I'm here," I said, pushing thick chocolate, almost black stands of hair back from my face. 

When I looked back to the man I was with my statement was met with a frown. 

"I told you why, a hundred times," he said the blue of his eyes flashing at me. Even at his six two I nearly matched his height standing five ten and a full six feet in the boots I wore. "I needed your help. You were the only I could turn too."

I sighed. Owen, not an ugly man by any means, was having woman trouble. He had called me up a couple of days ago to ask, or in other words beg, for my advice in evaluating his latest fling. I say fling because that's all they ever were. Why he needed me specifically was still a mystery.

In fact we had just gotten done visiting with this woman. Later we'd be meeting said woman under the pretences of a friendly get together at a local café. I cringed slightly at the thought. 

Now we were making our way to Owen's small photographer's studio. He said he wanted to take some pictures of me. Thought I'd be best friends with a camera. 

'_Given your model like appearance,_' he had said. '_You've got a dark smoldering mysteriously seductive way about you. Not traditionally beautiful, which only makes you all the more appealing._'

I shoved the thought aside along with the giggle that was creeping up at the word 'appealing.' I knew I wasn't ugly and in fact I rather like the way men looked at me. But Owen always had a way of over exaggerating things I thought. 

"You didn't need my help with this, Owen," I retorted, more gruffly than I felt, when a man shoved into my shoulder as he passed. "You never needed my help before."

"I know but I thought . . . you know . . . that she was . . . well . . ."

"Oh for god's sake spit it out!"

". . . A mutant," he whispered.

I laughed, loudly I guess since a few walking by looked at me a little funny. 

"You're kidding, right?" I asked, once my giggles had subsided enough for me to speak again. The question was met with another frown. "Oh, please, Owen, just because we're of the same 'kind' doesn't mean that's going to help me decide whether she's good for you or not. Only her character can say that. Just like any other woman."

Owen was still frowning. I hadn't known him long. The only reason he knew what I was, was because I had saved his life once. I hadn't wanted him to know about my powers that early in our relationship, if at all, but it had happened. He hadn't tried to use the knowledge against me. Until now that is. I rolled my eyes before going on.

"Listen, we're not the Borg. We're not linked like some supernatural collective. We don't know what each other is doing or thinking. . ." I paused a moment and smiled. "Well, most of us don't anyway, and not many would be able to tell when another is a mutant even if they were standing next to each other. Despite some rather obvious differences we are normal. We think and feel apart from each other. All I can tell you about her is going to be based on how I see her. And how I see her is no different than how I see anyone else, mutant or not."

That seemed to satisfy him. With a reluctant, but honest, nod he gave his understanding. I breathed a sigh of relief this time. 

"Sorry, China, I didn't mean anything by it. I guess it just seemed, well, logical, you know? Do you forgive me?" I didn't answer. "China?"

I still didn't answer because Owen's words had become softer to me as my attention was drawn to something else. I know his face looked concerned and I'm pretty sure he asked me what was wrong, but it seemed to be phased out. 

Ahead of us and across the street I spotted a woman. There was nothing odd about her really. Simply walking, no doubt to work, but what caught my eyes was the fact that she seemed oblivious to her surroundings. More so than most of the other New Yorkers walking back from their lunch break. Even through the mass of people, both on my side of the street and hers, my sight was still drawn to her. 

Hundreds, if not thousands, of variables go through my head every minute. Assessing, calculating, every little thing, every move that may need to be made, all of it is always inside of my thinking. It was an awareness of one's surroundings at all times that made me look. An instinct that made me worry and a second's reaction that made me move. 

A street parted us. Both sides of the sea of people were parted as well. But I knew, I just knew, could see it happen even before I gave voice to my thoughts. 

"STOP!" I screamed, but the woman didn't hear, or if she did she didn't realize it was directed at her.

I was running now, but with the crowd. . . even as near to the street as I was I knew it wasn't enough.

"STOP! PLEASE!"

The threshold broke into the concrete clearing just as tires screeched, people screamed, and her book fell to the white lines at her feet.

There was a sudden rush of something. I'm not sure what, images I guess, of people I think. Too distorted, too jumbled, too fast to make out clearly, but they hit my mind's eye hard, blinding me just as the truck hit the woman.

~ ~ ~ ~

"Didn' Gambit say dey was good for de job?" a tall brown haired man asked, in a thick Cajun-French accent, as his trench coat swayed with his steps.

"You ever tell anyone 'bout that, Cajun, an' I'll hang ya up by yer toenails," came the gruff reply from the taller man's companion.

They weren't a pair you'd think would be friends. In fact even if you got to know them you still wouldn't think they were friends. They looked to be complete opposites, even in their personalities. Although, if either were to be honest they were more alike than they were comfortable admitting.

The taller man, by the name of Remy LeBeau, lit up a cigarette that was thin, almost feminine in its length. The man himself could be held to the same description. He was lean, tall with long firm legs. His broad shoulders and narrow waist hiding the true strength he was capable of. Even the features of his face were delicate for a man, high cheekbones, and narrow nose. The lines of his jaw were soft but still defined the skin smooth. His hair was shining and flowing as if he'd combed it for hours. A pair of mirrored sunglasses only seemed to add to the effect as they hid his eyes from view.

"Even you, Logan, got to admit it felt good, non?"

Logan merely grunted in reply.

In comparison Logan was differing in every way to the man he now walked with. Even in his choice of tobacco, as he puffed away on a fat cigar. Shorter, by a foot or more, his shoulders were thick and his waist broader. His legs harder and shorter moved with a slight stiffness. Even in the Levi's, and loose fitting white T-shirt this man's strength was obvious. Every muscle was outlined along his body as if set in marble. His face wore a cloud of stubble along the solid lines of his jaw. Dark seemingly coarse hair lay as if he had done nothing but run his fingers through it that morning. 

"Just don't be expectin' me ta go there every weekend," Logan added. Admittedly, Remy, sometimes know as Gambit, was right. "I lost the bet. I paid up."

Gambit laughed a smooth but very manly laugh in its own way. 

"You be needing more treatment like that, mon ami," Gambit replied with one of his trademark Hollywood smiles. "I dink you like it, even if you won't admit it. Maybe next time you lose on purpose."

Logan smiled despite himself, a smile that was sharp with fangs and again opposite to the man next to him. 

It had been almost three hours since the two of them left the Xavier institute, their home, for this trip into town. True, Logan had lost a bet on a football game and it was because of that that he had found himself at a spa earlier that morning. 

It was a place Gambit often went to. A place that prided itself on being private and customer oriented, with your own personal servants tending to you for two hours. Massages, steam rooms, food and drinks, you name it they had it. Even if he had been reluctant to go at first it had been well worth it. Especially the women who acted as his attendants for those two hours with rub downs and hand feeding him grapes. He began to chuckle low at the thought. Not a bad way to lose a bet.

"Alright, so ya got good taste," Logan began. "Jus' don't go rubbin' it in."

"'Course not, mon ami, I would never dink of it. Not a word from dis point on."

Even though Gambit's voice was lighthearted Logan knew he wouldn't say anything. There was a certain amount of understanding between himself and Gambit. That was enough for him to not push the subject. 

As they began to cross the street at an intersection they walked in silence. At least they did until both men heard a woman shouting 'Stop.' Then simultaneously they both saw the woman with the book. Without having to acknowledge the other they knew what was happening. 

"Shit," Logan growled as he bolted from the stream of people towards the woman. 

There was another scream this one coming from behind Logan. In the back of his mind he realized Gambit was no longer running beside him. The thought was quickly brushed away as he spotted the tall brunette breaking through the crowd. They were both apparently trying to help the same woman. Logan was just as close as the brunette was but he knew it wasn't enough.

The woman was hit, quickly and brutally. There was a flash of white, like snow, in Logan's racing thoughts. His mind shot like a hot knife sending heated pain through his head. 

Cries, from what started out as only a few people, rose into chaotic screams. People ran, to, from, anywhere that they could. In all the movement to help the woman who had just been hit only a couple of people noticed the three other bodies now just as limp. 

To Be Continued . . . 


	2. Transported

**Chapter Two**  
**Transported**

He was cold Logan realized as the fog inside of his mind started to lift ever so slowly. In fact he was too cold. The tips of his fingers and toes could no longer be felt while the rest of him was lit afire by the iciness. Shivers swept down his spine and the sound of his teeth chattering seemed to be lost in the howl of a strong wind. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this cold. Actually, he wasn't sure he had _ever_ been this cold. 

With a heaviness he hadn't realized they could have Logan's eyes slid slowly open. He quickly shut them again as a blinding whiteness pained the retinas. Another shiver passed over him, this one enough to shake his entire body violently. Yet when he meant to growl it was little more than a pathetic groan. It sounded as if it had come from a child who was protesting the fact they had to do what they didn't want to. 

'_What the hell is going on_,' he thought. He felt so strange. 

But his question, though unspoken, was still answered by a razor sharp wind that cut into his back. It was then that he realized he was on his side curled up like a new born. Another wind, this one enough to get him to open his eyes again. 

It was a fight but he managed to keep them open this time. Blinking away the pain, and the gathering tears from that pain, Logan was able to take a more measured look around him. 

Nothing but white. White as far as he could see, but with his vision so blurred he doubted he was seeing very far at all. It was a delayed effect, but finally his mind was beginning to work more clearly. His cheeks felt like they were burning, but he knew they were just freezing. 

A sudden shift in the wind and a wall of snow hit him square in the face. Forcing himself up onto his elbow he saw that he had been lying on the ground in a foot of snow. Which explained why his shoulder had lost its feeling and yet that only led to more questions not answers. 

He shouldn't be feeling this cold, not to the point of becoming numb. That was a blessing when it came to his mutation. The healing factor his body was famous for treating whatever was wrong within a matter of minutes, sometimes longer, yes, but not this long, and not for simply being cold. 

As that thought brushed through his mind again another question was raised. Not only was there, 'why was he cold' but 'how'. New York had been beautifully warm. The sun was shinning, and there was the softest breeze in the air. The temperature had reached 76 even before noon. So why was it snowing now, and not just a small snowfall but a storm? 

Years of training forced Logan to his feet even through the pain of his stiffening limbs. Staggering to a nearby tree and bracing himself there finding he was having trouble breathing. Okay, now he was getting a little worried. 

He was disturbingly disoriented. He could barely hear anything, barely see, and he could smell nothing. He was cold and hurting, and with each breath he took it felt like knives were being driven into his chest. Though he tried to fight it his breaths wouldn't come in any better than shallow gasps. 

In a brief lapse of the wind the swirl of snow settled allowing for a clearer view. Now he saw he was in the middle of thick woods. Thick tangled masses of trees twined together forming a near impenetrable field of vision. Even in Central Park the trees hadn't been this tightly packed. He was in a forest. 

The fact that it was dark, save for the full moon's light didn't help his sight. Though the trees made it hard Logan could make out a tall gray mass in the distance. No doubt a house of some sort, he thought. 

The question now was, "Where the hell am I?" 

The words were quickly swept away as the wind picked up again. Carrying with it the sound of something flapping against something. With his skin so chilled it took him a moment to see that the sound was coming from the shirt he wore. But it wasn't his shirt, at least not the one he had been wearing. 

It was white, and puffy. The sleeves where long and the cuffs were gripping his wrists with a tie string allowing the fabric to billow in folds along his arms. The neck was a sharp V that dipped nearly to the mid of his stomach. Extra fabric that bordered the neckline flapped against his skin in the wind. Around his chest it was full and loose tucking into a pair of pants. 

The pants themselves were different too. With a wide waistband they reached higher than the jeans Logan was use to wearing. They were deep, almost a blackened red, in color. Not as loose as the shirt but they still didn't fit tightly to his legs. 

On his hands was a pair of dark brown gloves. He also took note that he was wearing a pair of black boots that reached to just below his knees. None of which seemed to be helping against the winter conditions. 

Logan looked down to where he had just been lying as something fuzzy within his vision caught his eye. There was a cloak crushed from the weight of his body, and lightly dusted by the snow. It was blackened-red and dark brown too with two thick lines of soft gold and amber that trailed along up and around the hem. 

He quickly reached to put it on. Even with the cold Logan paused mid dressing to stare at what was obviously a sheathed sword that had been concealed by the cloak. With another onslaught by the wind Logan's mind was brought quickly back to his freezing body. Then he couldn't put that cloak on fast enough. Once he had the cloak tied and the hood brought up around his face his body almost instantly became warmer. It was heavy and soft fur lined the inside. The cloak touched the ground and even spread out slightly at Logan's feet but it fit perfectly. A deep pleasant sigh echoed through his chest as his body snuggled into the fur. 

He took a glance down at the sword again. He may not know what was happening or how he ended up seemingly in the middle of no where but he sure as hell wasn't going to leave without that sword. With the strange things that were happening to him he had to be sure to have every advantage. 

The sheath of the sword had a thick leather strap that tied perfectly around the broad belt of his pants. Once he was sure nothing else was around he headed to the only place he knew to go that large gray mass in the distance.

* * *

****

Somewhere in the back, still functioning portion, of my mind I know I was hearing voices. Several voices coming from several different sides. Which didn't seem all together odd considering I was in New York and had just witnessed a woman's death. There were bound to be people gathered around. 

"La-y -ore." 

I squeezed my eyes at the sound of a female voice and an incredibly fowl smell being shoved under my nose. I couldn't understand her completely. My head was killing me like I had a hangover of the worst kind. Which was silly since I hadn't drank at all that day. Even if I had been drinking I had rarely got plastered so bad to explain the feeling I was having now. 

As I moaned and realized the voices sounded relieved and slightly louder now but still sounding like they were coming from a barrel. 

"Lady More?" 

That fowl smell got suddenly stronger as I felt it being waved beneath my nose. The urge to cough was unstoppable. 

"Oh thank the heavens she's waking," the female voice cried. "Marie. . . Lady More?" 

I peered up through narrowed eyelids to be met with the rounded face of a rather young looking woman. Her hair was done up atop her head and I couldn't help but notice the elegant, at least to me, dress she wore. Not to mention the fact that she was calling me 'Lady Marie More.' 

No more than, literally, a handful of people knew my real name. In fact most only knew me by my code name, China. I had taken it from the endearment my mother called me, my china doll. 

Needless to say this woman was not one of those people who knew my real name. Owen didn't even know it and I had saved his life! And why was she addressing me as 'Lady?' Did people even use that term anymore? Even if they did, why would anyone give me the title? 

"Wha-" I blinked rather wide eyed and cleared my throat again pushing the small pouch the woman held away from my burning nostrils. "What happened?" 

The sound of my own voice shocked me slightly as it sounded weak and seemed to echo somehow. My ears, though they felt normal, weren't hearing things that way. Since the age of two my powers had been forced to emerge. One of those gifts had been hearing, but now I seemed almost unable to train my ear on anything specific. 

For a moment I panicked, as my eyes opened normally again, looking around things were blurred and distorted. Again my ability to see better than the average was taken from me. What was going on? 

But then there was a sudden sinking feeling to my heart as if I had just lost something very dear to me. I clenched my chest reflexively. Perhaps my two heightened senses were somehow effected by what had happened and would return shortly. But what did happen? 

"You fainted, my lady," the woman, who I saw now, was kneeling beside me, answered. 

Fainted? I had never fainted before in my life. 

I must have actually spoken that thought because the woman looked at me a little strange and then went on to speak again. 

"Of course, my lady," she cooed, sounding to me like a patronizing mother. "There is a first for all things is there not?" 

I frowned, I know I did because she frowned back. Why was she talking like that and with a heavily thickened British accent? Why was she now calling me 'my lady?' What kind of outfit was that to be wearing on a warm day in New York? How did she know my real name? Was she a mutant too? Was she physic? 

No. Telepaths could read my mind, yes, but they wouldn't be able to understand it. I had been taught to 'scramble' my thoughts. So any time they tried to read my mind it would be like trying to read a book in a language you can't speak. The thoughts and pictures were there but made no sense. 

Still that didn't answer why I couldn't hear or see like I should. And what was that eerie sense of having lost something? Why was it I felt as if a man was sitting on top of me? 

Sitting up from the hardwood floor I was lying on, which I took note of wouldn't have been in the middle of a New York street, I slowly glanced around me. Besides the young woman next to me I was the only other female that I could see. However, there were three men in the room with us. 

Wait a minute. Room?! I pressed a hand to my forehead trying desperately to figure out how I got here. Who they were? Why I felt so strange and how could I fix that feeling? 

"Why are you calling me that?" I asked looking to the woman who gave me a suddenly very worried look back. 

"Calling you what, my lady?" 

"That, that 'my lady.'" 

"Why, because you are the lady of the house of course," she replied slowly glancing up at the men who had also become worried. "Do you not remember?" 

"Remember?" I shot back feeling suddenly and completely lost. Not a good feeling to have under any circumstance and certainly not a good one to have with a blinding headache. "I'll tell you what I don't remember. I don't remember having told you my real name. You want to know why I can't remember that because I NEVER TOLD YOU MY NAME!" 

"MARIE!" It was a man to shout this time. A rather short man, balding, very well dressed with an overgrown mustache that hung to cover both of his lips. The expression on his face and the fire in his eyes took me aback. I knew instantly this was not a kind man. "How dare you raise such a tone in the presence of men. It is by far most unbefitting a lady." 

My anger shot up several degrees with that statement. His tone had been demeaning and it was obvious he meant every word and he meant them for me. Who was he to talk to me like that? I had drop-kicked men for less. I bolted to my feet to give him a few more words he wouldn't have liked only to nearly fall back down again. I had tripped on something, something that also pulled at my waist. 

The woman who had been next to me had also stood and had quickly reached out to steady me before I actually did fall. I found my breathing was being restricted by something tightly pressed around my rib cage. It was then that I saw why I felt like a weight was over me. I was wearing a dress, too. Not just any dress, a full, thick, dress that obviously had several petticoats beneath the flowing light blue bell skirt. 

The sight of that and the way I saw that everyone else was dressed in the same type of style was enough to make me forget everything I had wanted to say a moment before. I couldn't understand any of this and for the first time in a very, very long time I felt scared.


	3. A Wolf in Sheep's Skin

**Chapter Three  
A Wolf in Sheep's Skin**

Normally Logan knew that in a storm his enhanced senses weren't much better than anyone else's was. But even in lapses in the storm he couldn't smell or see or hear anything like he should. He kept going though, slowly, keeping his baring as best as he could. 

Logan wasn't sure how long it had taken him to get to the house. Luckily the house was large enough to keep easily in view. On closer inspection however it turned out to be an old castle. That only puzzled him more though. Where had an old castle come from? 

The place was abandoned. There wasn't a soul to be seen. In fact there weren't any signs that anyone had been there in years. The castle was falling apart due to time and weather. Several sections had fallen completely leaving large holes in the architecture. 

If he looked hard enough Logan could image just how impressive the building once was. It was set up on a rise in the land. The briefest of clearings ended only at the foot of the small hill. Dark grey stones of varying shades were placed sparsely along the walls. What was left of three towers married each corner. The forth corner's tower was still standing. 

The east wing however, was still fully in tacked. Though Logan doubted very much that these places were very warm even in perfect condition. Not that it mattered at this point he was just glad to be out of the storm's furry. Even with the cloak he wore the wind still wound beneath it, its icy fingers creeping into his shirt to chill his flesh. 

Finding a relatively small room with a doorway and one very narrow window Logan decided he would make his place there. In the morning, once the sun rose to warm and light the world outside he would search for wood. 

And food, he thought, as his stomach growled fiercely at him. 

He would have liked to go then to start a fire but he was still feeling oddly strange. Besides if he judged the moon's decent correctly dawn wasn't but a couple of hours away. With his cloak and the solid cinder block walls of the castle he could wait. 

To pass the time he tried to figure out how in the world he found himself here. A castle, obvious very old by any modern standards, and with clothes that were in perfect condition but just as old. It all seemed to fit together though, excluding his presence of course. 

The undisturbed woods, the style of the castle and clothes. They all seemed to be from the same time period. Of course no matter how much he thought of his surroundings it still didn't help explain how he got there. 

So his mind traveled to the moments just before he woke up here. The spa, the Cajun, of whom he had no idea what happened to, the brunette woman, the blonde, the truck, then the pain. Whatever happened had to have happened then, he decided. It was all that made any sense at this point. 

Somehow he was propelled, transported, beamed. . . here. But where was here? 

Logan raised his eyes from the dark grey floor to glance around at the small room. The room was round because it was in a low tower the only place that seemed to be the steadiest and best for keeping warm. The rest of the castle's rooms were huge, most with more than one doorway and several windows. 

He was managing to ward off the cold by crouching down to sit on his heels in one 'corner' of the room. The cloak was pulled around him like a tent encompassing his bent knees that were drew up tight to his chest. The sleeves were very long coming about a full hand's length past Logan's hands. Which was fine in this kind of weather. The hood too was large and hung, if allowed, to nearly cover Logan's entire face. Right now though Logan had it pulled back slightly to allow him to keep an eye on the room's only doorway. 

There weren't many actually doors still remaining. Most had fallen from their hinges or simply decayed. A few of the main doors, leading out to the grounds surrounding the castle, had the distinct signs of being forced open. They laid in scattered pieces having been chopped open. 

It was a good thing he wasn't a superstitious man, Logan thought with a chuckle. Otherwise he might not be so inclined to stay in a place that's household no doubt met an unpleasant end. 

Once his mind was exhausted of running in circles of thought, Logan turned his attention to the sword. The hilt was shined to a bright silver color. Around the handle was wound tough and smooth leather, the color of darkened blood. It had the usual cross like shape with the head and arms coming to round balls. At the top ball, and the largest, was imbedded a large primitively cut ruby. 

The sheath was also wrapped at the top with the burgundy leather. It was long with three more rubies in line starting just below the leather. They too were fashioned roughly and decreased in size as they were laid out towards the sheath's end. Despite the gems seemingly cheap look on closer inspection it was obvious they were quite valuable. 

"Bet the guy who lost this is kickin' himself right now," Logan mused to himself, "or he's dead." 

Logan frowned at that thought as he pulled the sword from its hold with a soft click. The sound of metal against metal as he drew it echoed loudly through the room. Standing up he stepped to the window allowing the moon's fading light to shine on the blade. 

It was exquisite there was no marring on it. The long two edged blade glistened proudly as Logan turned the handle in his hand. Stepping back from the window he swung it expertly through the air. He couldn't help but take note that the weight and balance was perfect for him, as if made specifically with him in mind. 

He brought the blade to a stop in front of him. With a thumb he reached out and dragged it lightly over the edge. He had hardly touched the blade before it cut into his flesh. 

Logan winced slightly and drew his thumb away. For a moment he didn't give the cut any notice and it wasn't until the blood continued to drip to the floor that he realized something was drastically wrong. 

He quickly re-sheathed the blade and now took hold of his bleeding thumb. For several moments he just stared, but no matter how hard or how long he stared the wound remained. A deep frown creased his brows as a partial realization began to dawn. 

Holding his hands out in front of him with their palms face down he stared at his knuckles. Only for an instant did he hesitate, knowing if he was right he would be leaving himself with even more open wounds. The instant came and went and without another thought he flexed his muscles. . . 

Nothing happened and with that nothing came total and complete comprehension. The reason why his senses weren't working right, why his healing factor wasn't healing, and now why his claws didn't appear. Somehow he had either lost his powers or someone was making sure he couldn't use them. 

Another thought crossed his mind and it hit him so hard that he literally fell to his knees. That odd sensation the way he felt strange somehow. Wolverine was no longer lingering in his mind. In fact the very presence of any feral thoughts or feelings were completely lacking. And looking back on it Logan realized it had been that way every since he woke up in those damned woods. He was normal, human, for the first time since he could ever remember. 

He sat there on his bent legs in total and utter shock. What the hell was going on, he thought. This couldn't be happening. His mind raced with a hundred thoughts and yet he didn't seem to be able to think at all. No matter what his mind could have thought he didn't have time to muse over it. 

From the narrow window the sun's rays had begun to trip into the sky. Logan looked up to the opening at a complete loss as to what to do. Again he didn't have time to think because he felt his skin begin to itch. 

The higher the sun rose the worse the itching became. Peeling back the fabric of both cloak and shirt in one movement Logan's eyes widened as white fur started growing along his arm. Throwing the cloak from him despite the cold he tore off his gloves and watched as his nails turned black, thicker, and longer. 

All over his body he itched like his skin was on fire. All over white fur was growing rapidly matching the rise of the sun. The heat was becoming so intense that Logan found himself stripping off all his clothes. 

He tried to step back as if away from what was happening but it didn't help. There was a sudden sharp pain at the base of his backbone. He glanced over his shoulder. 

"Holy shit," he spat as a fluffy white tail flicked into view. "What the flamin' Christ is goin--" 

He clamped his now paw like hands over his mouth as a sharp bark ended his sentence rather than words. Soon his ears began to burn as they narrowed and grew. The features of his face were next molding to the slender muzzle of a wolf. 

It only took a few minutes but by the time the sun had crested the horizon in place of Logan stood a four-legged white wolf.


	4. A Noble Daughter

**Chapter Four  
A Noble Daughter**

It had been about two weeks if I am calculating the time right. But two weeks is two weeks and in those weeks I have learned a great deal. Well about where I am at least and whom these people think I am. 

Looking out over the gardens of the More family estate, which are bare and covered in snow, I can't help but still feel lost even with the knowledge I've gained. 

Apparently the woman who had revived me using smelling salts is my personal servant, by the name of Isabel. 

This however was not a happy household. Ever since the night I fainted Isabel said there had been sightings of a ghost, a woman. That only brought more questions. I had yet to see this ghost but I had a feeling everything somehow tied together. 

The three men that were there that night I guess I also know, at least according to Isabel. The man who had spoken to me so bluntly is my 'father.' 

"Father my ass," I mumbled into the wind at my window. "The man is a sexist and no doubt a bigot as well." 

But in this time it was the way of things. Men were men and women were only here to serve the man and birth him sons. 

Just as I had guessed the first moment I saw my 'father,' he was not a kind man. In fact he had tried to beat me a few times but quickly learned I wouldn't take it when I broke his nose in three different places. He hadn't tried it again, but I was sure he took out his rage on the servants. 

The two other men were guests who had come to ask for my hand in marriage. Of course they didn't come to ask me personally just my 'father,' Lord James More. I had seen them both only that first night and then briefly the next day before they left. 

They haven't come back since. No doubt my outburst was not something they wanted their wives to do. Good, at least that meant I wouldn't have to do anything else to ward them off. 

Luckily the 'amnesia' that these people think I'm suffering from gives me an excuse to not see anyone. All guests are turned away saying, "The Lady is not well and is not seeing callers." 

Which is perfectly fine by me. I'm in no mood to see anyone. I have locked myself in my room and refused to greet even James who has been growing increasingly mad at my lack of both respect and memory. 

Isabel is the only person I ever see. She brings me my food, bath water, clothes, etc. Despite my first impression of the younger woman having spent the last two weeks around her I have grown to care for her. She is just barely fourteen but deals with life in a manner that any woman would be proud to say they have done the same. 

I hate it here and I know what anyone would think hearing this story. Why haven't I left or at least tried to leave. Well, the truth is I have on a number of occasions. But it quickly, and painfully, became apparent that whatever had brought me here also took my mutant abilities. 

My first attempt to leave was to simply walk out the door. That was quickly met with James' guards dragging back to my room. It was then that I truly realized that I had lost my powers. Which is also why my heart had sank to my feet. It knew what had happened even before I did. 

James has since told everyone in the household not to let me leave because I was ill. The fact that I can't keep my mouth shut, or recall anything about this place doesn't help my case. Of course that didn't stop me from trying both to escape and to bring back my gifts. 

My next attempt was to fly out the very window I'm standing at now. The only thing to save me from breaking my neck was my remembrance of martial arts training. I managed to only sprain an ankle and get several minor scrapes and bruises. 

My duplication, strength, flight, heightened hearing and sight, agility, and even the ELET tattoo on my shoulder are gone. All of it is gone but my memories and the training for those first sixteen years of my life is still there. I can still do every martial arts move, can still track, and assess as if nothing has changed. But something has. 

The next few attempts to escape were more primitive and only resulted in my capture. I had tried to even convince everyone that I did remember this, remembered them. But I couldn't possible learn a lifetime's worth of memories in only a few days. Therefore the trick had no chance of working. 

Now there are four guards outside my door. Four because they needed that many to handle me when I got caught. I had already broken several bones of previous guards. I smiled at that thought. Usually they needed more but James sees no reason that four grown men can't handle one woman. Which actually works to my advantage. 

I turn my head at the soft but firm knock at my door. I know it would have to be Isabel, but it was rather early for her to be up and about. The sun isn't even beginning to show its light and wouldn't for a few more hours. 

"Yes, Isabel, come in," I said turning my gaze back out to the crystal sheen of snow. 

As soon as I heard the footsteps inside my room I knew something was wrong for it wasn't Isabel who entered. I swung back around to be faced with James' servant, Ruth. A woman who was usually rich with color was now paler than the setting moon outside. Blood was evident in black streaks along her face. 

"My lady," she sobbed, and came running to me. 

I openly hugged her, she too was young just a couple of years older than Isabel. I myself, at the age of twenty-four, acted more as a mother than a boss to the two young women. My heart ached sharply as I saw and heard Ruth's pain. 

"What is it Ruth?" I asked my voice not hiding my sudden dread. "Please, what has he done to you?" 

"It's not my blood, my lady." 

My heart stopped in that moment. 

"No," I breathed looking down at Ruth who nodded. 

"He dragged her . . . to his chamber, my lady," she cried into my chest. "He's drunk . . . beating her . . . taking her . . . he's killing her." 

Taking her, in other words he was raping her and with the beating it was bad enough to threaten Isabel's life. My anger flushed my cheeks and even in the dark room I'm sure Ruth saw that as she looked at me with fear and hope in her eyes. I was the only one to stand up to James and Ruth knew that. 

"Quickly, Ruth," I ordered in a hushed tone. "Faint." 

"Faint?" 

She looked completely confused. I put my hands gently on her shoulders and looked her square in the eyes. 

"Yes, Ruth, faint, or at least _act_ as if you have." 

Maybe it was the adrenaline of fear or the promise of hope that I had a plan but in either case Ruth's eyes suddenly shown with understanding. When she nodded I stepped back to allow her to lie down but instead she simply fell. Under different circumstances I would have laughed, but not now. Her body made a dull thud as it landed and I turned to run to my bedroom's door. 

"Quickly!" I called to the guards as I flung open the door. "Ruth has fainted. I need your assistance. Quickly men quickly!" 

They came into the room behind me as I rushed over to Ruth's body feigning worry for her. Which wasn't hard to achieve considering my body was riddle with the emotion for Isabel. 

Two of the guards knelt down beside Ruth as the other two stood behind me. 

"Don't just stand there you fool!" I barked to the two still standing. "Get some water and smelling salts." 

They looked at each other briefly and then one turned to leave. I waited only until I couldn't hear his steps in the hall. I knew I'd have to make this quick otherwise I wouldn't make it. Even one less guard was a blessing. With lightning quick speed, that had been learned rather than mutated, I dropped to one knee and kicked out the feet of the guard who was still standing. 

As he fell I stood grabbing the hilt of his sword pulling it from its sheath. The two other guards had stood and were advancing, but one tripped as Ruth reached out and grabbed his ankle. 

The second guard drew up his own sword, as did I as they clashed together. With the advantage of mastering several fighting forms I twisted my sword around his pointing the tip to his hilt. A swift smooth jerk and his sword flew from his hands and caught it in mine. Flipping back from a standing position I kicked him in the chin sending him back before landing on my feet again. 

Ruth was still struggling with the other guard as I turned to leave the room. 

"Forgive me, Ruth," I whispered as I pulled the door shut behind me and jammed one of the swords into it to keep it shut. 

I could only hope she would not be injured with the men. 

James' room was in the other wing of the house but my feet carried me quickly to his door. Softly I opened the door to find him with Isabel bent back over the side of his bed. She was naked with her legs pressed forcibly apart by James' hands. The sight of his hips thrusting mercilessly into Isabel made my stomach turn. Whenever Isabel made a sound or even moved he reared back and punched her. 

I'm not sure what made me do what I did next. I don't normally lose it like that but I just couldn't take it. The short time I had been there I had seen the aftermath of his beatings. The anger that surged through his fist blow after blow. I had stopped him before but even I couldn't stop it every time. If he were allowed to live the beatings would continue. 

With feather silent steps I crept up behind him. His groans with every press of himself into Isabel made the bile in my stomach move upwards. The sword raised high over my shoulder and with a swoosh of split air it came down hard and fast against his neck. James' body fell in a heap beside the bed as his head rolled off the foot of the bed. 

Suddenly the room was just as silent as the night outside. The only sound I could hear was the beating of my own heart as it thundered like an iron fist against my chest. Then slowly I heard the beginnings of tears, my tears. 

With a loud clatter I dropped the sword to the floor at my feet and rushed to Isabel's side. Her face was barely recognizable anymore as it was covered with crimson. Cuts and gashes marred her once beautiful features. The bone of her nose was jutting out as the lower half hung completely shattered. Bruises the size of apples were already appearing in red, black and blue welts. Deep fingernail scratches left stripes along her exposed breasts. 

I didn't dare look towards her lower half. I had seen that already. It looked muddy with blood that still flowed from inside of her. The bastard had torn her apart inside, literally. 

"Isabel," I cried softly brushing her blood stained hair from her eyes. "Please, Isabel, answer me." 

But there was no answer and even though I continued to cry and shake her body I already knew there was no hope left. He had finally done what I always thought he would. He had killed her. I began to sob unhindered as I hugged her sticky body to me and rocked her slowly. 

"I'm so sorry, Isabel, I'm so sorry." 

In the midst of my crying I couldn't hear the approaching footsteps of men.


	5. Pack Hunt

**Chapter Five  
Pack Hunt**

How long had it been? Logan looked up at the wall of the tower room. He had been keeping track by etching the days into the wall with his sword. Eighteen days had past, eighteen cursed days and still he was no closer to figuring out what had happened. 

The only thing he was able to figure out was that he shifted into a wolf. Ever since that first day it had been the same every day for the past eighteen days. When the sun broke through the horizon line he would find himself standing on all fours. But once the last sliver of that same sun set he returned to the form of a man. 

The odd thing, besides the obvious, was that when he was a wolf he thought like a man. Still there were no hints of his once feral side. As the white wolf, though, he did have his keen senses back, but that was it. It was something at least. However, that didn't help in puzzling out what the hell was happening to him and why, let alone how to stop it. 

He had searched day after day for civilization, but he could never stray too far from the castle. Once in human form again he was libel to freeze in the winter's cold. No matter where he went or how hard he sniffed at the air nothing was familiar. God, what he wouldn't give to see even the Cajun, walk through the room's door right about then. 

The constant unwilling shifting each day was getting very irritating. More because he would rather not shift back to a man if he had to shift at all. The wolf was comforting far more familiar than his body had become through all of this. At least then he was one with nature like he enjoyed being. 

As the wolf he was able to hunt and therefore eat. With every kill he made there was no rush of bloodlust, no sense of lost control. Plus the fur, or feathers, from the kills had provided a nice bed for him. 

He was also able to gather wood now. Even after eighteen days he was still learning the terrain, as a human. As wolf he knew it well. But he had food, the warmth of a fire, and even water collected from melted snow. It wasn't so bad actually if he was suppose to be here to begin with. 

He had searched the castle thoroughly and gathered small dishes or old weapons that had been left behind. There were even some old tattered fabrics that he collected. 

The solitude of the place didn't bother him either. Although, he would have liked to meet somebody who could at least shed some light on where he was and when. 

The sword that he had begun to call his own was held in his right hand. Its tip resting against the stone floor. Logan turned his head to the narrow window as the first glimpses of daylight began to creep their orange fingers through the indigo night sky. 

"Day nineteen," he said raising the sword up to the wall to etch another mark. "An' counting." 

He replaced the sword to its sheath and stripped of his clothes to stand naked waiting for the inevitable. Sure enough just as with the past eighteen mornings the changed acquired. Within a few minutes Logan was peering through the colorblind eyes of a white wolf. 

The wolf, admittedly, matched Logan's bodily form. Strong with muscles outlined defiantly along its body. Even the fur was a little wayward compared to the other wolves Wolvie had spotted in the woods outside. Those wolves that he had met as a wolf seemed to sense that he wasn't normal and kept their distance. 

Shaking vigorously Wolvie trotted out of he castle on four paws. The sunlight glinted along the snow through gray heavy clouds. 

"Snow clouds," he thought. "A storm's on its way." 

Wolvie tilted his nose to the wind almost instantly he caught a scent. His lips seemed to spread into a smile over his slender muzzle baring the white fangs beneath. 

In a flash of white fur that was almost invisible against the woods snow covered back drop, Wolvie was off. Jumping over fallen trees and scurrying through brush he raced along at top speed. Then suddenly he stopped. 

Ahead was the slightest movement and to any human a movement that was impossible to see, but to Wolvie it was blatantly obvious. It was a white hare that was digging at the ground for buried grass. Wolvie edged silently forward positioning himself about ten feet away from the rabbit. Then like lightning he bolted forward and gave chase. 

The hunt lasted for about an hour Wolvie though, but it had yielded nothing. The rabbit had evaded him long enough to reach the safety of its burrow again. 

"That's all right," Wolvie thought, panting hard as he sat back on his haunches. "I can wait for a meal." 

Meals around here weren't easy to come by and even if he did find something it wasn't always a sure thing that he would catch it. More often than not Wolvie would spend most of the day catching enough meat to eat. 

This day was going to prove no different, as the sun crept slowly through the sky. By the time Wolvie caught a rabbit the sun was well on its way to delving back into the depths of the earth's western horizon. The storm that he had seen that morning was starting to show up as large flakes fell, but were still thin. 

The limp furry rabbit hung in Wolvie's jaws as he started back towards the ruined castle. He was tired, hungry, and sore. The thought of going back to the warm room with his kill was a pleasant one. He could already taste the sweet flavor of the meat. 

As Wolvie hopped over a large fallen tree limb something made him pause and perk his ears. Suddenly his entire body stiffened as he stood perfectly still. He didn't even breathe. 

The sound came again confirming what Wolvie had thought it was to begin with. Other wolves. They were howling to one another giving their position, but the pitch of their calls was what Wolvie was listening too. In this form he had the instincts of the animal and knew what that pitch meant. They were on a hunt. 

Wolvie raised his head, the rabbit still in his mouth; to look at the red burned sky. The sun would be setting soon in little less than an hour. The wolf pack was out a little early. They usually didn't hunt until after dark. Why were they out now? 

Then another sound bounded through the forest to Wolvie's ears. This sound was unmistakably the sound of hooves, heavy and fast through the snow. It was a horse, no wait, two horses. By the sound of their run they both carried something. With a sinking feeling Wolvie realized the wolf pack was hunting humans. 

The castle was plain in the distance but he didn't even pause to think of what to do. Dropping the hare to the ground Wolvie turned around and headed for the sound of the horses. With all the noise the beasts were making it wasn't hard to find them and catch up to them. 

Running several lengths away in the woods beside the horses Wolvie could plainly see a rider braised low against the steed's neck. The second horse had no rider and Wolvie could see it was merely being used as a packhorse. 

The rider was a woman her dark chestnut hair whipped about her shoulders as she rode hard. A black cape with dark blue trim flapped out behind her. Underneath he could see she wore a cobalt blue dress but she was straddling the horse. 

The pack was closer than Wolvie was and were nipping at the packhorses' heels. There were four of them and Wolvie knew there weren't any more because he only picked up on four scents. 

Carefully Wolvie edged closer to the path the woman was leading her horses. Once able to get a closer look he saw she held tightly to the reins with one hand while in her other a rather long dagger red with blood was braised so hard that her knuckles were white. The look on her face was not one of fear but of determination but it was obvious that she was incredibly tired. 

The stallion she rode had a large gash on its rear flank and Wolvie realized that one of the wolves must have jumped up on the hindquarters. The blood on the dagger could have only been that of one of the wolves but the four there weren't bleeding. So a fifth wolf must have fallen to badly wounded by the woman to continue with the pack. 

Wolvie picked up his pace as they all raced for the frozen lake just past this patch of forest. Letting out a haunting howl the other wolves looked his way barking and growling fiercely giving him warning to stay back. But Wolvie paid them no mind as he drew closer still to the woman and horses. 

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the woman was staring at him. She must not have realized he was there and had thought there were only the four wolves at her heels. 

"The packhorse is slowing her down," Wolvie thought, and the woman seemed to echo his unspoken words as she reached back and sliced the rope tying the two horses together. 

He watched as tears started to collect in the woman's eyes as she briefly watched the packhorse being separated from her by two of the wolves. Free of the second horse however, her steed was able to fully run unhindered. It took full advantage of the chance and bolted with a new speed and pushed Wolvie to keep up. 

The other two wolves were having trouble too but were also keeping up. They would make the horse run until it literally fell from sheer exhaustion. Wolvie however, wasn't going to let them have the woman. He was going to stay with her just like the other wolves. 

When the clearing to the lake came into view the woman called out kicking the horse in the flanks. The steed bolted with its last reserves out into the clearing and straight onto the ice. Almost instantly the horse began to loose its footing. It stumbled helplessly before finally starting to fall. Wolvie was on the ice so fast he found he had trouble stopping before colliding with the horse himself. 

Wolvie's concern for the woman was instant as he watched the horse, but to his surprise the woman didn't stay on like most would. Instead she leapt as best she could off the horse before it landed on its side. The woman landed on her back sliding on the ice away from the fallen steed. 

The two wolves were on top of the horse within seconds but the woman didn't bother to stick around. Not that Wolvie could blame her. Getting to her feet she began to run, sort of, along the ice. Then she froze. So did he. They both heard the dull creaking of the ice beneath them. 

"Oh god." Wolvie heard the woman whisper. 

By now the other wolves were struggling with the large horse. The weight of the beast was the source of the cracking. Soon there was a loud sudden ear scraping sound as the ice split. The woman peered over her shoulder to watch with Wolvie as the horse, along with the wolves, fell through the ice. 

Even before Wolvie looked back to the woman she had fallen to her stomach distributing her weight to try and prevent herself from falling through too. 

There were yips and barks from the pack as they fought to get back on top of the ice. It took them a few minutes but finally they had regained their footing and were glaring towards the woman. 

Wolvie had already put himself between the pack and the woman. In a growl that sounded so familiar now he gave them his warning. But with two against one the odds were in their favor. He lowered his head bearing his teeth as the white fur along his back bristled. 

The first to advance from the pack was the largest. Probably the leader and the best at what he did. Wolvie lunged forward toward the leader even as the other dug its fangs into his flesh. If he took out the leader the other would fall back. He knew that, it was instinct. 

Wolvie couldn't prevent the yelps of pain from his throat with each bite he received. But for each lick they got in, he got in two still concentrating on the leader. Finally after what seemed like an endless minute there was an opening. Wolvie lunged and sank his teeth into the leader's neck clapping down hard. 

The wolf fought hard and the other member was relentless in its efforts to free the leader but Wolvie had the determination of an animal and the will of a man. With every blow and bite he held tight to that neck. Then the leader stopped struggling and fell still against the ice. As if on cue the second wolf pulled back to look at the now dead wolf. 

Wolvie stood up bleeding in a couple of places and in pain but he stood and managed to snarl out another warning. The other wolf backed off and scurried towards the woods again. 

He hated doing that to them. They were just trying to survive but if it was a choice between them and the woman Wolvie would fight to the death for her life. Once he knew the other wolf had really left he turned around to find that the woman had crawled away. 

She hadn't gotten far. Even in the cool of the nearly gone sun it was apparent that she wasn't moving anymore.


	6. Awakening

**Chapter Six  
Awakening**

For a brief moment I thought that perhaps I was waking up back where I belonged crossed my mind. The feeling was the same, the headache was there, and it was warm. Although it was quiet but my mind clung to the hope ever the same. 

As I felt myself draw from the slumber other things were the same too, but not in a good way. The feeling my heart had, like it lived in the pit of my stomach was still there. Then I knew that nothing had changed that I was still stuck here without my powers. 

Small spots behind my eyes grew and began to burn as I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. I was not one to normally cry at my own despair but I had had it. I was so tired, so mentally exhausted, and just so damn tired of it all that it actually began to hurt. 

Then my mind remembered the wolves, the horses, and the ice. I tried hard to recall what happened but couldn't. The last thing I could remember was crawling in the snow my hands going numb, my muscles screaming to stop, and the shaking that finally over came my body dragging my mind into sleep. 

Was I dead? No I was still sore. Could still feel the stiffness of my bones. Surely the wolves hadn't dragged me off. If they had I'd be dead I'm sure of it. 

Slowly I figured out that I was lying on my back and I could hear the crackling of fire in the distance. I squeezed my eyes tightly together pressing back the waiting tears not allowing them free. I groaned softly as I tried to turn over. It was then that I realized there was something lying over my stomach and a heat pressing to my side. 

"Shh, it's all right, darlin'," a whisper came from beside me. 

Total awareness washed over me like ice. My eyes flashed open and I shot up to a sitting position and scooted back away. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," the voice said, in a tone that didn't sound native to this country. 

I stared at what was now clearly a man. With several short darts my eyes moved around the room. Where was I now and who the hell was he? What had happened? Had he done anything to me while I was asleep? I jumped to my feet despite the pain that ran through me. 

He was still lying on a pile of furs with a large what looked like a cloak over him and the now empty space where I had been. He raised up onto his elbow letting the cloak fall from his shoulders to collect around his waist. 

When the cover dropped I saw he had on a white shirt, but I wasn't able to see if he was bare further down. Although I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know either. 

My eyes glanced around again and spotted a sword leaning against the wall. Apparently he saw me see it and guessed what I planned to do. We both dart forward at the exact same time. I reached the sword first and had it in my hands just as he came up from behind. 

The strength of his arms wrapped around me holding my back tightly to his chest. His hands moved quickly to cover mine on the hilt of the sword. 

"Let me go," I ordered struggling to take the sword. 

He may have been shorter than I am but he was stronger. 

"Listen I'm not gonna hurt you, trust me," he said tightening his grip both on my hands and around my chest. 

"Of course you won't," I quipped. "You already have!" 

What he did next was . . . unexpected would have been an understatement. He loosened his hold on me and though my back was to him I could feel his eyes evaluating my belief in my own words. 

"I'm gonna let ya go," he whispered. "Just don't slice my head off when I do, okay?" 

I didn't answer but stilled my struggle to get free. Cautiously he lifted his hands from mine and stepped back away from me. He continued to take slow steps back. 

I didn't bother to wait until he stopped all together. Whipping the sword from its sheath I spun around to face him. Drawing the sword around with me I stopped the edge of it dangerously close to his neck. He didn't flinch, didn't move to advance or defend himself. I was frowning as our eyes locked and held. 

"I didn't touch ya if that's what yer thinkin'," he said his voice calm and low and most recognizable, not patronizing. That would play more to his favor than he probably realized. 

"If you didn't," I began slowly still holding the sword to his neck. He still didn't more. "Than how did I end up in your . . ." I glanced at where we had been and frowned again before looking back at him. "Is that suppose to be a bed?" 

He smiled, and again I didn't sense that he was being patronizing, which only puzzled me more. I suspect he would have nodded but with the sword so close to him he really couldn't without being cut. 

"Yea, it's suppose ta be," he replied. I looked back to the bed. "You were cold." My eyes shot back to his and held again. "Ya were on the frozen lake. I brought ya here," he explained. "But even with the fire an' cover ya were still shiverin'." 

"So you used your body heat to keep me warm." It wasn't a question and I relaxed a little. Something about him was easy to believe. "You're either telling the truth or a damn good liar." 

"Question now is which truth do you believe." 

I raised an eyebrow at the word 'truth' in his statement. So he was openly admitting to being a good liar. A small smile tried to creep to the corners of my lips but I fought it back. For a moment I just stood there holding his sword in place. 

What was I supposed to believe? It wasn't as if anything here made sense anyway. So why not think that a man who brought me to his bed and laid down with me was merely trying to keep me from freezing. I sighed softly and glanced at the bed then the fire and back to him. 

Besides I couldn't exactly tell if he was lying or not. I wasn't a virgin, wouldn't have bled. Though I hadn't bled anyway, nor was I sore. No doubt if he had raped me I would have been. 

Slowly I pulled the sword away from the skin of his throat. Then I pushed the tip of it under his chin forcing him to tilt his head upward. 

"If I find out in some way that you're lying," I voiced lowly. "Or if you try anything now. I swear to god I'll pull you're balls out through your throat." 

"I give you my word," he said and I thought sure I caught the beginnings of a grin but if I did it was just as quickly gone. 

I drew the blade back and re-sheathed it then watched as he rubbed spots along his neck. I gave a lopsided grin at the look on his face. His features had softened dramatically with another smile and he seemed pleased almost eager. 

"I'm sorry if I scared ya, darlin'," he said. "Didn't mean to." 

"You didn't scare me," I simply said watching his every muscle as he moved. He nodded and glanced at the sheathed sword that I was still clutching to. 

"Ya hungry?" He motioned with a hand to the fire. 

I merely moved my eyes to look. There was a small fur partially covering a browned half eaten rabbit. Now that I took the time to I could smell the tender fragrance. I hadn't eaten in almost three days. I couldn't stop my stomach from grumbling in anticipation. It smelled heavenly and I closed my eyes breathing it in deeply. 

My eyes opened again when I heard a deep rhythmic chuckle rumble through the man's chest. I smiled softly and dipped a hand through my hair. 

"Actually, I am rather hungry." 

* * *

Logan watched the woman just as closely as she was watching him. Something about her seemed familiar but he couldn't place what it was. God how he wished he still had his sense of smell. 

His mind was racing with a hundred questions but he knew he'd have to wait. She was apprehensive about him and he still wasn't sure how anyone would react to his story let alone a woman who already had doubts about him. Still there were ways to get information without giving any. He'd wait. 

In an attempt to help her feel more at ease he moved to put the fire between them. She watched him intently and he noticed her grip tighten around the sword. 

He had already seen that she could wield it with an expert's hand. That sword had come at him in a flash of silver and yet she was able to stop it a split second before it made contact. That was a move that took a lot of skill. 

He kept his appearance calm and non-threatening as he sat down. The woman followed his lead and sat opposite him laying the sword across her legs. The fire's low flames climbing the air between them. It was still dark out which also begged the question of what he planned to do when the sun rose the coming morning. 

He let the silence build for several minutes as the woman ate. She clawed at the meat along the bone as if she were a ravenous . . . wolf. He grinned a little at the thought and bent his head down to briefly stare at the floor. 

"Who are you?" 

Logan's gaze was sharply pulled from the floor to the woman when he realized she was speaking. 

The deep bay of her eyes seemed to catch him like a net. Her devouring of the rabbit had slowed as she had nearly eaten what was left of it. The dark brown of her hair was turned a startling auburn by the fire. She was still wearing the clothes she had been when he found her. The black cape was draped back off of her shoulders. The dress had a fitted bodice. With sleeves that came down to a point wrapping around one finger on each hand. Its collar was made to come up along her slender neck. There was a diamond slit reaching from the collarbone down to reveal the deep cleavage of her chest. In the orange light the cobalt blue glowed highlighting the curves of her body. 

A frown started to pull her brows together and Logan realized he hadn't answered her yet. He cleared his throat lightly and thought about how to answer. 

"Just a lone wolf," he finally replied. 

"Do you have a name, wolf?" 

He grinned slightly. "Logan." She frowned more and waited, staring at him. 

"That's it?" she asked after a short moment of silence. "Or is that all you plan on giving me?" 

"You haven't given me as much." 

"I found myself in your bed in your arms. I think I deserve more than one name," she replied. She was right. "At least tell me if it's your first or last name." 

Logan cleared his throat again and frowned. He didn't even know the answer to that. A hand went to grip the back of his neck massaging it a little. 

"First," he replied and watched as she raised an eyebrow but the answer seemed to satisfy her. 

The remains of the rabbit's bones were thrown into the fire and she commenced tapping the sheath of the sword with her fingertips. Her eyes were staring at it as she looked like she was pondering something. Then she took a deep breath and looked back up to him catching his eyes once more. 

"Were you the one who saved me from the wolves?" she asked. Logan nodded. "Did you happen to see a horse anywhere when you found me?" 

"The horse ya were ridin' fell through the ice an' never came back up," he answer. "The second fell ta the wolves." 

Instantly he realized the slip and stared at her expectantly. If she noticed she didn't acknowledge it. Instead she took another deep breath this one sounding a little unwilling to be brought into her chest. 

"Then I owe you my thanks, as well as my life," she said in a near whisper. 

"Call us even." She looked at him with the question in her eyes. Logan pointed to his neck. "Ya could've killed me." 

"Yes I could have," she agreed smiling. 

"But ya didn't." 

"No." 

"Why?" 

She appeared to sadden all of a sudden and it concerned him why the question would do that to her. With a dip of her eyes she stared at the fire for a long moment. Logan said nothing because he could tell she had an answer it was just taking her a moment to decide whether to tell him. Then her eyes dipped again to the sword. Gripping it tightly one last time she picked it up and set it down on the floor. 

It was in that moment Logan knew she had taken a crucial step in trusting him. His heart began to warm at the gesture as she looked back to the fire. When she spoke again she kept her eyes on the flames. 

"Let's just say you're the first person, well man, here to see me as what I am and not as a piece of property." 

"Sorry." 

She laughed but not in a very pleasant way. "Don't be. It's not the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last." 

"No lady should be treated like a man's property." 

She stared at him again, her face unreadable, as she seemed to digest what he was saying. "No, they shouldn't." A soft honest smile past over her lips as she spoke something Logan didn't expect her too. "My name is China."


End file.
